


good walls make good neighbors

by haleofStilesheart



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - No Hale Fire, Cookies, Crying, Getting Together, Introvert Derek, M/M, Neighbors, Nerd Derek Hale, Police Officer Stiles Stilinski, Pre-Slash, Teacher Derek, Werewolf Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-15
Updated: 2017-10-15
Packaged: 2019-01-17 16:45:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12369867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: Derek's always been one to stay to himself, never one to stick his nose where it didn't belong. Until he starts hearing his neighbor crying in the shower every day.





	good walls make good neighbors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Vassbutt1991](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vassbutt1991/gifts).



> For the neighbors prompt: “Listen, we have very thin walls and I heard you crying in the shower, are you okay?” au Pleaseeeeee!!

Derek wasn't usually a nosy neighbor. Quite the opposite, in fact.

He was an introvert at heart. He had been ever since he was a little kid.

It was just another facet of his personality, one that his sisters and absolutely adored poking fun at. It was a great source of entertainment amongst a pack of werewolves that valued camaraderie and community above all else.

That wasn't to say Derek didn't cherish those values just as much as the rest of his pack. In fact, he appreciated them more than anyone else solely because he was so selective about the company he kept.

In high school, he had only had two friends, Boyd and Erica, who managed to accommodate his reticence and dry humor enough to want to actively hang out with him. Beyond them, he didn't have many friends, or acquaintances period.

Sure, he had been popular enough thanks to the positions he held on the basketball and baseball teams — being captain wasn't something to turn one's nose up at — but that popularity was limited outside of games.

He had never been invited to the parties celebrating the wins that he was mostly responsible. He had always been both grateful for and annoyed by that fact: on one hand he hated parties with a passion but on the other hand, it was nice to be invited.

While he almost single-handedly carried both teams he played on, he had always been, and always would be, a nerd at heart. He would take a quiet afternoon spent reading and sipping tea over a raucous night partying any day.

That being said, it was no wonder why he became an English teacher.

After graduating from Stanford, he managed to secure a highly sought after position at the high school in his hometown. Apparently, the previous holder of the position was a darach, reminding him of just how crazy the little town of Beacon Hills was.

After a few months of living with his parents while he settled into his new job, Derek found himself an apartment in town. It was closer to the school than the Hale House which meant a shorter commute which in turn meant he could sleep in for just a little longer.

In his seven years living in his apartment he had seen several neighbors come and go, nearly half a dozen or so. And all of them had their little quirks.

First, there had been Mrs. Peterson with her seven cats and fifteen grandchildren. She had been bright and sunny, always bringing Derek cookies and pies and other baked goods.

She used to play oldies at all hours of the night. She claimed it was the only way she could stay asleep for more than a few hours at a time.

She eventually moved out of the building in order to live with one of her grandchildren in Florida. Her seven cats went with her.

Mr. Twain was his next neighbor, a balding middle aged man who was going through a messy divorce. He smoked enough pot to mellow out an alpha on the full moon, the smell seeping into Derek's apartment.

After meeting a nice woman with two kids, Mr. Twain got married and moved out of his apartment. Unfortunately, the stench of cheap pot lingered long after he had left.

His next neighbor was Riley Morris, a single mother of three who worked two jobs. Her dog, a little ankle biting Yorkie, rarely shut up.

Derek wasn't proud of it, but he had resorted to flashing his eyes at the little yapper just to get it to shut the hell up so he could grade papers.

She moved out after getting a promotion that allowed her to quit her second job and move into a small house. Derek never once missed the incessant barking of her damned Yorkie.

Next came Taylor Rhodes, a recent college graduate reveling in all of the luxuries of life. From a downright ridiculous amount of sex to illegal drugs, she embraced all aspects of hedonism.

Of course, that was eventually her downfall. She was arrested only five months after moving in.

The other neighbors weren't exactly worth mentioning, a bickering couple bogged down by asinine gender roles followed by an old teammate of Derek's that was addicted to Netflix and rarely showered.

Then there was his new neighbor. Stiles.

He had moved in seven months ago, a young guy about a few years Derek's junior. His big brown eyes and pouty lips paired with his wild sex hair and mole dotted porcelain skin made him look like a model but he claimed to be a cop.

Derek had been suspicious but there was no indication of a lie in his new neighbor's heartbeat. Which meant the local sheriff's department was hiring twinks to fight crime.

Wonderful. Derek felt safer already.

Stiles seemed like a model neighbor at first. He was quiet and took his garbage out on time, was discreet as possible about his occasional hookups, and didn't have any obnoxious habits.

Except for the crying in the shower. But that was more disconcerting than annoying.

About three weeks ago, Derek had noticed something extremely odd while showering after work. The sound of soft sobbing.

Pausing with his arms raised, fingers buried in his hair to massage shampoo into his scalp, Derek had tried to figure out where exactly the sound was coming from.

At first, he suspected that he might have accidentally left his TV on. But he quickly discounted that theory since he hadn't turned the TV on all day.

His mind had then jumped to his phone which was resting on the bathroom sink, his shower playlist on full blast. But he knew every song on the playlist and none of them sounded even remotely like someone sobbing.

Other options exhausted, Derek had, quite literally, pressed his ear to the wall. The wall he shared with his neighbor. His neighbor who was crying in the shower.

Feeling like he was intruding on a vulnerable moment, Derek had quickly rinsed the suds out of his hair and climbed out of the shower. He figured it would be best to leave his neighbor to his sorrow.

The next time he had taken a shower, coincidentally at the same time as Stiles whose schedule seemed to sync up with Derek's without a hitch, he had heard the police officer crying again. And again, he had fled his bathroom to give him more privacy.

But the pattern was already set in motion and it seemed as though every time Derek took a shower Stiles did. And every time, Stiles cried.

It was a heavy crying, too. Not just a few sniffles. No, it was a hiccuping bout of heavy sobbing, the kind that made one's stomach ache and their head pound with a migraine.

It was pained. Full of palpable sorrow and indescribable grief. Heart-wrenching wails that echoed against the tiles.

They seemed to stab Derek in the gut, twisting blades that nearly made him whine in sympathy for his neighbor. His friendly, sarcastic neighbor with the brilliant smile and biting wit who always seemed like he could conquer the world.

Which is why, after three weeks of sitting through Stiles' sobbing in the shower, Derek found himself knocking on his neighbor's front door, a Tupperware container full of cookies in his free hand.

"Yeah, I'll be right there!" Stiles' deeper than expected voice called, always catching Derek off guard with how deep it was. Nodding to himself, he waited patiently for Stiles to answer the door.

In all honesty, Derek hadn't given much thought to what he was going to say. He had been packing up some chocolate chip cookies to send to his older sister in New York when he heard the now familiar sound of Stiles crying.

Something in him had snapped and before he knew what he was doing, he was shoving a bunch of cookies into a plastic container and rushing out of his apartment. He didn't know whether to chalk it up to werewolf instinct or his own fascination with his gorgeous neighbor.

Either way, there he was, standing in the hallway waiting for Stiles.

"Yo," Stiles greeted, pulling his door open a fraction to peer out at Derek. His hair was still wet, unbelievably messy like he had just run a towel over it.

He was wearing a baggy Mets t-shirt, a good portion of his collarbone on display, revealing smooth pale skin. His big brown eyes were rimmed with red, evidence of his tears.

"Oh, hey..." Stiles drawled, opening the door wider. Cocking his head to the side, he asked, "Derek, right? What's up, dude?"

Without any more preamble, Derek very eloquently blurted, "Are you okay?"

Stiles' brows immediately drew together. "What?"

"Listen, we have very thin walls and I keep hearing you cry in the shower," Derek explained in a rush. "Are you okay?"

The last thing Derek expected was for Stiles' face to split into a radiant grin, looking absolutely  _ delighted. _ Looking seconds away from clapping his hands and skipping, Stiles demanded, "Really? I was that believable? Dude, that's awesome!"

"I... Uh... Wait, what?" Derek stammered, fumbling over his words as he began to fidget with the Tupperware container in his hands.

"Oh, yeah, that probably sounded really fucking weird, huh?" Stiles countered, scratching the side of his head. When Derek just nodded, dumbfounded, he continued on, explaining, "My friend Kira's working on this play and someone had to drop out at the last minute so she asked me to fill in so I've been practicing to make sure I'm believable on stage."

Oh. That made sense, Derek guessed. It was still weird as hell, but it made sense.

And there was no trace of a lie in the explanation.

"Were you really worried about me?" Stiles inquired, chewing his bottom lip. He glanced at the container in Derek's hands.

"Uh, yeah," Derek answered dumbly. Dropping his eyes to the cookies, he thrust his arms out, announcing, "I, uh, brought you some cookies. Thought they could cheer you up."

"They're definitely working," Stiles declared, beaming up at Derek with a wide grin. Stepping to the side, he wondered aloud, "Do you-Do you wanna come in?"

Derek realized that he did. More than anything. Introverted tendencies be damned.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr [here,](hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com) maybe send me a prompt or two!


End file.
